


i've always liked to play with fire.

by justwantedtodance



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Wax Play, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwantedtodance/pseuds/justwantedtodance
Summary: 3x04 Canon Divergence. After the intervention/convention, Rebecca's revenge takes a bit of a dark turn.





	i've always liked to play with fire.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song "Play With Fire" by Sam Tinnesz and also "Wax" by Rachael Sage.

_Insane, inside, the danger gets me high._

She’s not crazy. Who were they to come storm into her house and dredge up her past like that? It’s irrelevant anyhow, seeing as she’s left all that behind to start fresh in West Covina. With the singe of her hair straightener that final fateful day in New York, she cast her past aside with only a few split ends to remind her of the person she was. She hopped on a plane and didn’t let her old life keep her from finding a new one in sunny California with Josh Chan.

But Josh Chan thought she was crazy.

If she was crazy, he made her that way. Crazy in love. Insane with infatuation. He only has himself to blame.

But now, it isn’t just Josh Chan who thinks she’s crazy; it’s everyone else she’s trusted, everyone she’s let in, and now they’re shutting her out because they can’t handle her. They can’t understand what it feels like to be inside her head; they don’t have to live with the guilt of the horrible things she’s done. They don’t understand what it’s like to be hurt, broken, abandoned, embarrassed like she has.

“Trying to help?” Please.

It’s all bullshit, she thinks. No one really cares about me. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be trying to send me to doctors to get professional help like an insane person.

They all say she’s insane? Well, they haven’t seen anything yet.

It’s her duty now to give everyone a taste of their own medicine. They want to call her crazy? Fine. It’s time for Rebecca Bunch to be crazy. To make them crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy.

* * *

_I light the match to taste the heat._

Valencia paces around the living room, her eyes glued to her phone anxiously waiting for any news on Rebecca. The others have since retired to their respective homes or are out patrolling the streets on search party duty. Heather leans back on the couch and sighs as she watches Valencia’s breath accelerate.

“V, you’ve been at this for two and half hours. Just relax; she’ll come back on her own time.”

“I can’t relax right now. I’ve just … never felt like this before. It’s not like me to be this worried about someone. I just want her to come back.”

The front door opens.

“Dude, she’s not here. And also loitering isn’t cool. I could totally have you arrested for—” Heather takes notice of who opened the door, and her words fall short. Rebecca closes the door carelessly behind her and makes a beeline for the fridge, her mind set on the bottle of wine that she knows is full and waiting. She never bothers to glance at the shocked faces of her friends until Valencia rushes up and hugs her from the side while she’s reaching for a corkscrew.

“Thank God you’re okay,” Valencia whispers. “Rebecca, I’m so sorry about everything. You were right about everything, I shouldn’t have forced my wedding plans on you. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“Accept your apology?” Rebecca scoffs under her breath and shirks Valencia’s touch, returning to the counter to grab her corkscrew and open her wine. “What, because you want pity now? ‘Oh, poor Valencia, we should all feel sorry for her.’ Yeah, right.”

Valencia stands back, hurt and confused. “Wait, but I apologized. I thought you’d be happy. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Rebecca throws her head back as she laughs acerbically this time. “Oh V, you still don’t get it, do you? I don’t need your apologies, I don’t want your sympathy, that’s useless anyway.” She takes a long sip of the rich Cabernet and struts her way back to the living area, lounging in the armchair facing Heather.

“Here’s what I really want. I really want, more than anything, to feel like you for even just a second. Invincible. Powerful. Unstoppable. See, I used to idolize girls like you, Valencia, and you too, Heather. But then I came to the realization that I can be just like you if I’m ruthless and cutting enough. Powerful women, they don’t demand attention with just their presence. They control their audience, invade their weaknesses, and attack. That’s how to do it.”

“Rebecca, you’re kind of starting to scare me,” Heather says cautiously.

Rebecca turns her head slowly to face Heather, and with a icy smile, she says, “Good.”

“Why are you doing this,” Valencia asks quietly.

“Because, Valencia, for so long, I was afraid of you. You were beautiful and hot and had everything I wanted. But now, I’m not afraid of you anymore. Quite the opposite, actually.” Rebecca steps closer to Valencia, challenging her with a vicious stare. “A word of warning: if you aren’t scared of me, you should be. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

She turns on her heel, takes her wine, and lets her bedroom door smack shut behind her as she retreats into solitude. Back outside, Heather and Valencia look between each other uneasily, unsure of what to say or do or feel next.

“What do you think she meant by that? ‘You have no idea what I’m capable of?’ I don’t know about you, but there is no way I’m about to be the star of the next box office horror flop.”

“I wouldn’t read into it too much. She’s just stressed and lashing out. You apologized, but it’s really all you can do.” Valencia leans against the counter and sighs.

“I feel terrible, and I just want to fix it.”

“Well, you can’t fix anyone who won’t fix themselves. I know it sucks to hear, but there’s nothing you can do. Just go home and relax, take your mind off of it. I’m gonna go too. Hector promised he’d buy me tacos, and that’s totally not a racist thing, I’ve just been craving tacos for, like, the last three hours, soooo… _adios_ , _chica_.”

Heather exits first, and Valencia follows shortly after, backpedaling for a moment to stare at Rebecca’s shut door, debates knocking softly but doesn’t. She lets the door fall closed behind her and drives home in a melancholy silence.

Valencia unlocks the door of her apartment, the darkness inside foreboding and unusual. She doesn’t remember turning all these lights off. When she steps further inside to light a candle, the shadows begin to creep up on her, a drafty chill whooshing at her back. She strikes the match, and the candle begins to burn, the hints of rose water and ivy instantly relaxing her as she inhales deeply.

She looks up and screams.

The wall mirror hanging across from her sofa lies shattered on the floor, glass scattered in every direction. Valencia covers her mouth, breath trembling as she tiptoes over to examine the wreckage. Among the shards lies a note, carelessly ripped from a legal pad, edges jagged and unruly as the handwriting on the page. It reads:

_You may look perfect on the outside, but you’re no less broken than the rest of us._

It’s then Valencia realizes what Rebecca’s really after. Racing around to solve her own brokenness by showing everyone else their weaknesses, much as it doesn’t solve anything, is her aim. Even though she draws a conclusion about Rebecca’s motives, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

She numbly reaches for a sizeable chunk of glass and stares into it with curiosity, examining her reflection for any traces of brokenness. Her brown eyes scan for imperfections, and it isn’t until light reflects in the glass that she sees the distortion beneath the surface, the years of hiding behind a tight-lipped smile, a man, and many well-placed insults, and she flings the glass away in horror when she sees the woman staring back at her.

Rebecca may be misguided in her pursuits of love, but she certainly has Valencia all figured out.

Meanwhile, at home, Rebecca hears the girls leave, and she knows it’s time to enact the next stage of her plan. She rubs her hands together, grabs her keys, and heads for the door a little giddy at the thought of what she could really do. The Valencia thing was admittedly good, but that was just a warmup en route to her real mission.

* * *

_My pleasure is their pain._

Now Josh, she would have some fun with, probably the most out of anyone. Considering he’s inflicted the most amount of pain on her, it’s only fair that his suffering is the longest and most intense.

After knowing him for so long, Rebecca has pinpointed his weaknesses and learned what makes him most vulnerable. Now it’s _really_ time to destroy Josh Chan.

Sure, her attempt starts out a little “campy 1980s horror flick,” what with banging a fallen tree limb against the window and creating backyard rustlings that nearly got her caught, but she’s just getting started. The branch hitting the window rattles Josh, though not nearly as much as when his swing set kept moving despite no bodies occupying the pieces of equipment. The white-hot fear in his eyes excites Rebecca from her hiding place in the bushes near the fence. Yes, this is exactly where she wants him.

Josh retreats to his bedroom, determined to sleep to get these ridiculous thoughts out of his head. He’s seeing things that aren’t there, hearing things that make no sense, and he thinks he must be dreaming. Until he hears something unmistakable.

Glass breaks from a few rooms over. Immediately, Josh springs out of bed to check on his parents, make sure they aren’t hurt. Lourdes and Joseph are both sound asleep in bed, which can only mean there’s someone inside his house. Josh tiptoes back into his bedroom, grabs his baseball bat, and softly makes his way down the hall to the living room. He travels lightly and faintly smells something burning but brushes it off as the neighbors making a fire in the outside pit.

As he makes his way further into the house, the stench of smoke gets stronger, and then he spots it. A pot on the stove beginning to rise with flames. Josh drops the bat on the tile and races towards the kitchen in search for the fire extinguisher. He eventually finds it and sets to work dousing the flames. When he can breathe easily again, he looks for the source of the fire and suspects his parents left something on the stove while they were cooking dessert for the church potluck. Then, he spots an open bottle of rum next to the pot and knows this couldn’t have been his parents.

He checks the pot and finds something truly haunting inside. The bow tie White Josh gave him for his wedding and a once-white garter lay scorched inside the pot, and next to it is his custom shot glass from Darryl with “ReJoshecca ChaBunch” printed on the side. There’s only one person responsible for this.

“Rebecca,” he growls through his teeth. Louder this time, he slams his fist on the counter and yells, “Rebecca!”

“Hi Josh.” She’s standing across from him in the kitchen dressed in a white slip, her feet bare and softly caressing Jarl’s hunting knife while staring up at Josh with a haunting innocence. “It’s a shame you missed seeing me in this. I just figured I’d give you a little show while I stopped by.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you think it’s okay to torment people like this?”

“It is when they deserve it. And you, Josh Chan, you deserve it more than anyone I know.” She refuses to make eye contact with him and studies her disjointed reflection in the surface of the knife, running her fingertips loosely across the blade.

While she’s distracted by the gentle metal in her palms, Josh reaches across the kitchen and picks up his discarded baseball bat and steps towards Rebecca, inhaling deeply through his nose. Suddenly, she begins to laugh and finally catches his eyes with a taunting stare.

“What are you gonna do with that thing? You won’t hurt me. You can’t any more than you already have.”

“Just stop this, Rebecca. Look, I’ve apologized for what’s happened, and I’ll say it again. I _am_ sorry, okay? So can we just forget about this and move on?”

She stands still for a moment contemplating her options. Of course, she could concede to Josh’s wishes and throw all of the past to the dirt. It would be just that simple after all. But Rebecca couldn’t do that, not after she can’t find a hint of justice in this situation. There’s no way she could give up now. If there is one thing she does know, it’s that if she hurts, it won’t be because Josh Chan hurt her.

Rebecca hiccups a laugh. “Oh. You mean like you can conveniently _forget_ to show up to our wedding and move on with your life? Is that it? Is that what you want me to do because you know, Josh, it’s not that simple.” She steps towards him slowly, a threatening dominance now forward in her eyes. “See, you don’t know what it’s like to feel like me. You don’t know how it feels to be hurt and rejected and scorned. But now, you’re gonna know.”

She corners him against the edge of the kitchen table, knife handle still precariously balanced between her raging shaking fingers. Josh backs up as she advances, truly afraid of what might happen next.

Rebecca breathes onto his neck, “You’re such a fucking coward. You couldn’t bother to send a text? An email? Or better yet, tell me in person why you ran away like a scared little boy? You know what, that’s what I want. Tell me why you ran, and don’t give me a bullshit excuse again.”

“Can we please just sit down and talk about this without knifes or bats or—“

Rebecca angles the knife up towards his throat, slowly closing in on his skin. “Stop hiding, stop running, stop _lying_ and tell me.”

Josh draws in a shaky breath. “I … I just think two weeks was too soon, and we shouldn’t have rushed like that. I made a mistake, I should have told you, and I’m so, so sorry, Bex.”

She pauses for a moment, knife hanging halfway between herself and Josh. “And instead of being a man and owning up to what you did, you took the easy way out. Didn’t bother to think what I would be feeling or how it affected me.”

Josh starts to interject, but Rebecca barrels on, stepping away from him to pace the length of the kitchen. “Of course you didn’t because you’re Josh fucking Chan, and you’ve never had to make a choice for yourself because people like you get to have it easy. No one blames you if you fuck up or bail because you don’t want to do something.”

Rebecca laughs. “You know what’s funny? I used to idolize you. Oh yeah, I thought you were this big, strong beacon of masculinity, I had such high expectations for you, Josh Chan. But you let me down, just like everyone else in my life. You weren’t there for me when I needed you. I wonder what your family would have to say about this. I’m sure you didn’t tell them what really happened. Maybe I should explain it to them.”

Josh inhales through his nose. “Leave then alone, Rebecca.”

“You know I wouldn’t lay a hand on them, Josh. I could never. But let me make myself very clear. I will make you feel the pain I did, make no mistake, and I won’t stop until I see that very same hurt in your eyes.”

“Wh-what are you gonna do,” Josh asks, voice momentarily failing him. Rebecca smiles, baring her teeth, and pushes a section of his hair back.

“If I told you that, it would just ruin all the fun.” Rebecca begins to circle him. “No, no, I’m gonna make you wait. Keep you on the edge of your seat. The best kind of revenge is the one you don’t see coming. Just you wait, Josh Chan, because your worst nightmare is about to come true.”

A dull thud comes from the living room. Josh whips around to find the source of the noise but sees nothing, so he heads towards the living room to find the supposed fallen object. He lets out a startled noise when glass crashes against the kitchen tile, and Josh returns to the kitchen to find his custom shot glass in shards on the floor. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Rebecca anywhere. He calls after her to no avail.

“Rebecca? Rebecca! Come back here!”

“Josh?”

He shudders and turns around to find Lourdes standing in the hallway looking at him strangely.

“What are you doing awake, mom?”

“I heard something in the kitchen, and I wanted to check on you.” She looks over and sees the shattered glass and baseball bat discarded on the floor. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“She—she was here, mom. Rebecca, she was here, and she was saying all this crazy stuff, and she had a knife—“

“Don’t be silly. It was probably just a bad dream, nothing to worry about. Rebecca would never do something like that.”

Josh clenches his fists. “Yes, she would. She did. She was right here—“

Lourdes yawns. “I’m going back to bed.” Josh drops the pieces of glass in his hand, resigned.

“Night, mom.” Her door closes, and Josh sits alone on the floor. Even his own mother doesn’t believe Rebecca is capable of doing things that could hurt people. But he knows what he saw.

Meanwhile, Rebecca makes a hasty escape while Josh checks the living room and lets the shot glass shatter as she sneaks out the front door. She watches the exchange between mother and son through the kitchen window with glee. Yes, her plan is working exactly how she imagined; the dejected hang of his head is icing on the cake. Rebecca drives away from the house, one final stop in mind to complete her mission.

* * *

_I love to watch the castles burn._

Rebecca slips in, quiet as the night, and stands by the door for a moment just to watch, observe his breath patterns, the sleepy sweep of hair across his eyes. If he wasn’t so traitorous, she would find him beyond attractive. Keeping her steps light, Rebecca creeps towards his bed and fishes the bands of silk from inside her jacket. She carefully climbs onto the bed, situating herself over his hips, and wraps a tie around each of his wrists, securing it to the headboard.

She’s barely finished with the second wrist when Nathaniel stirs beneath her. He blinks a few times and mumbles a disoriented “what the hell” when he can’t move his arms. The strike of a match near his face makes the hairs on his neck stand on end, and the flickering light frames her silhouette, a manic hunger swirling wildly in her eyes.

“Rebecca?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you, unless you don’t cooperate, that is.”

“How did you get in here?” She says nothing and brings the match to light the candle she placed on the nightstand with a small smile. “Rebecca.”

“It doesn’t matter, but if I’m being honest here,” she says as she snuffs out the match with a puff of air, “you really don’t want to know.” Rebecca flings the match aside and runs her hands along his bare chest, nails grazing his skin just hard enough to leave a tiny red trail.

“Why did you come here?” His voice sounds almost broken, the pain of having her so close and yet so far away evident in his harsh whisper. Nathaniel knows the woman on top of him isn’t the same woman he knows to be Rebecca Bunch. It can’t be. Her eyes are darker, though not with lust, her fingers grip tighter, but not in pleasure.

“Because you have something I want.”

“And what would that be?”

Rebecca silently strips her jacket and places it beside her on the bed, leans down to his lips and kisses him. She tastes like mace and feels like steel. This isn’t the warm, soft, pliable Rebecca who woke with the sun last week to roll over and kiss him with such passion. There’s no smile in her kiss, no tenderness in the fingers in his hair. But he returns her kiss with all the tenderness he owns, every gentle grin he’s only ever shown around her. He’s quickly cut off by her lips crashing down on his neck in what is almost a bite.

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it? To fuck me? To take what you want and leave me again.” His sharp response makes Rebecca pull her lips away momentarily, stunned by how hurt he is. Nathaniel Plimpton, who she once thought was an invincible robot, has a weakness. Rebecca leans in to his ear and laughs, a soft, sinister thing, all throaty manipulation.

“You wish that’s why I came here, don’t you?” She gnaws his earlobe between her teeth. “Oh no, I have something extra special in mind for you.”

Rebecca reaches over to the nightstand and pauses before dipping two of her fingers inside the crater of the burning soy candle, somehow careful enough to avoid the flame itself. The wax burns at first, a delicious longing that treks down to her toes, but cools after a moment to a butter-like consistency. She takes those two fingers and rubs the wax into her collarbone, the heat still underlying in her touch, and hisses at the initial contact before letting out a deep moan.

“I’ve always liked to play with fire, you know. Well, you do know now since you most likely opened that envelope. It’s the danger, the thrill of it that’s intoxicating to me, knowing that I can wield something so hot and powerful and destructive. I’ve always been a little drawn to the dark side.”

Rebecca grabs the candle from the table and studies it before tipping it over to let the freshly melted wax drip onto her chest. When the first droplet hits her, she winces a little, but once it settles onto her skin, she grinds her hips down into Nathaniel’s lap, closing her eyes and tossing her hair back.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel lies beneath her absolutely transfixed at the sight in front of him. He’s quick to protest once he sees what she plans to do with that candle, but her reaction to the momentary pain and the pleasure that follows stops him. Against what he knows is right, his erection grows beneath her winding hips and hot center. It’s not to say he’s never seen anything like this before because he’s certainly been one in the past to explore taboo fetishes in bed, but he can say he’s never seen anyone make this look so _hot_.

She places the candle upright on the table and skims her other hand over her thigh, chuckling as she stares down at Nathaniel looking positively wrecked. His fingers clenched in tight fists above his head, Rebecca can only imagine what’s going on behind those pretty blue eyes.

“You look like you want a taste of this. Do you like a little pain with your pleasure, Nathaniel? You’re so fucked up, you’re probably loving this right now.”

His response is a strangled “fuck” with an upward thrust of his hips. Oh yeah, she’s gonna have some fun tonight.

She dips another finger in the candle wax and rubs it across Nathaniel’s shoulder when it cools slightly, and he lets out a small hiss but quickly darts his tongue out to wet his lips.

“You know, you were right, Nathaniel. About Josh. Family, that’s his weakness. And god, he looked so weak.”

Nathaniel’s now skeptical eyes shift back to hers. “Rebecca, what did you do?” She laughs lowly and runs his hands across his jawline as he tugs against the ties at his wrists. “Rebecca, what the _hell_ did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t hurt him, if that’s what you mean. At least not physically. You should have seen his face; oh, it was _priceless_. He practically begged at my feet for forgiveness for what he did to me. I finally got the payback I deserved. I destroyed Josh Chan on my terms. I made him feel powerless and worthless, and I loved every second of it.”

Nathaniel tries to slip one wrist from the restraint above his head. “No, you didn’t. This isn’t you, Rebecca, stop it.”

“Isn’t it?” When she spots his movement, she reaches out and intertwines her fingers with his. “You’ve known me all of a few months, fucked me twice, and suddenly, you think you know everything about me? I hate to break it to you, buddy, but what you saw in that file? That _is_ me, whether you like it or not. Because here’s the thing: people don’t change.”

Suddenly, there’s a change in her voice, all bravado and seduction wiped clean. “People don’t change. Just like I know you’ll never stop being a perfectionist daddy-pleasing womanizer, I won’t stop being too fucked up to love, even by someone more fucked up than I am, if that’s even possible. I’m too far gone. I’ve accepted it. No one’s ever gonna love me because of who I am, who I was—“

“Rebecca,” he says with genuine sympathy. She clamps her hand against his mouth and breathes out a long sigh.

“Don’t, just don’t talk, don’t try to make it better because you can’t. No one can.”

She’s silent for a moment, her chest trembling as she grips Nathaniel’s hand in her smaller one. Rebecca Bunch cannot be fixed, at least not by anyone else. She has to fix herself. Rebecca reaches carefully for her jacket, knowing exactly what she needs to do.

“What are you doing?” Once Rebecca fiddles around for a few moments to find what she needs, she brings the object close to her and screws her eyes shut, clutching to it her chest and taking a deep breath. “Rebecca. Put the knife down.” She brings it up to her mouth, pressing her tongue to the blade, drawing a line up to the tip along the flat. She inches the knife closer to her exposed wrist, and Nathaniel tries not to let the shakiness in his voice break the surface, but it doesn’t work. This isn’t happening. “Please don’t do this.” No response. “Rebecca, stop.”

It’s like she’s drowning. The undertow of madness and self-loathing has pulled down, and she’s complacent to let it drag her as far as it wants. Rebecca isn’t fighting the current, isn’t screaming for help, because she doesn’t need help. She doesn’t need saving because she doesn’t deserve it. It’s easier just to sketch the patterns of anger and regret and let the blood and twisted thoughts run fresh down her arm. Cuts will heal; her trapped mind won’t.

Nathaniel struggles with the tie on his wrist that she isn’t holding and furiously tries to free himself. He won’t stand (or, in this case, lie) by and watch her destroy herself or mar that beautiful skin and whisper unfathomable thoughts of self-hatred beneath her breath. The blade draws closer, too close, and Nathaniel pulls and pulls and finally grabs her wrist and yanks the knife from her hands, tossing it to the ground and letting it clatter loudly.

She’s startled by the sound, and she blinks her hazy eyes a few times to regain attention. What she finds when she looks down hurts more than the darkest thought she’s ever had. Nathaniel grips her tight, eyes swirling with frustration and disappointment, and hurt leaks from the corner of his eye in a lone tear droplet sliding down his cheek. How could he let it get this far?

“Damnit, Rebecca,” he whispers.

Rebecca’s lip quivers, and suddenly, she’s crying too, slow and soft. She drops both her hands and collapses down to Nathaniel’s chest, letting her mascara tears stain his skin. His freed hand comes up to cradle her head, and he works his other hand free to wrap around her waist and hold her until the waves subside and every last thunderous thought runs down his skin and dries. Nathaniel will let her darkness seep into his bones if it means she’ll be free of it. He knows there’s no redemption for him, but she certainly can be saved, despite what she claims. He wants to save her from the dark he knows too well.

Her breaths become stronger and more even, and she goes to release herself from Nathaniel’s arms, but he keeps her close against his chest.

“Nathaniel, let go,” she quietly commands.

“I … I can’t.”

“I’m serious, let go of me.”

“I don’t want to.” He’s honest, too honest. She pushes against his chest to move from the bed, and his arms fall away in defeat. He’s lost her.

“Stop trying to save me and just let me go!” Rebecca stands beside his bed and reaches for her jacket, shrugging it on and turning on her heel to walk away. Before she gets to the door, she turns back to him, voice low. “No one can save me, Nathaniel. No one. Not even me.”

Rebecca slips into the dark just as quickly as she came. Without another word, another sound, she’s gone. Nathaniel fights the temptation to chase after her and gets up to lock his door when he spots the glisten of the knife at his feet. For a moment, he picks it up, fondles it, feels the weight of it in his palm, but he stuffs it into the back of a drawer and slams it shut. It’s only then that he crumbles to the ground, all the air leaving his lungs in fierce, jagged cries. The pain and guilt torments him all night long. It could have been him; why did it have to be her?

* * *

_I’ve always liked to play with fire._

Rebecca sits in the lawn chair, knees tight to her chest, as the bitter wind whips harshly through the midnight sky. Her tan jacket doesn’t do much to keep the chill from her bones. Paula’s house behind her, she stares out into the deserted street, cars parked along the parallel sides of the road and faintly wishes she could find herself perpendicular to that slow-moving car heading away from her into some blissful unknown. She wouldn’t think twice about stepping in front of its path.

She shivers as a gust blows through, and she hides her trembling fingers in the sleeves of her jacket, curling herself into a tighter ball. The cold burns, and she knows she could easily go home … except she couldn’t, not after what she said, what she did. And she could go back to the hostel, but she didn’t feel like going that far. Something about this place feels like a shelter, even though she knows she probably isn’t welcome inside.

It isn’t until that thought crosses her mind that she starts to cry.

She has officially alienated everyone she cares about. She really is alone. No one wants her anymore. How could they? Rebecca presses her forehead against her knees and cries. Every time she tries to stifle her sobs, they only grow louder and harsher, her chest stuttering as she tries to breathe through the unbearable pain of loneliness. She hears the crunching of autumn leaves behind her, but she doesn’t bother to acknowledge the presence in her vicinity. Suddenly, she feels a warm hand cover one of hers, and Rebecca looks up to find a red-haired angel kneeling in front of her.

“Oh, honey. It’s okay.”

Rebecca shrinks into herself. “Wh—what are you … why are you out here?”

Paula reaches behind her back and lifts up the beaten envelope with “Rebecca Bunch’s Past” scribbled on the front. She looks up at Rebecca gently. “Let’s talk, okay?” Paula goes to sit across from Rebecca in the double-seater chair. “Come, sit next to me.”

Rebecca hesitates for a moment but lifts herself from her ball and immediately curls back into one as she drops on the seat next to Paula.

“I know you have better things to do than be out here with me.”

“But I’m worried about you. We all are. Me, Heather, Valencia, Darryl, Nathaniel. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You shouldn’t care about me. None of you should. I’m not worth caring about.”

“Rebecca, that’s not true—“ Paula reaches for her hand, but Rebecca swipes it away angrily.

“Yes it is, Paula! I don’t know why you refuse to believe that, but it’s true, okay? D—d’ya ever stop to think that maybe I did all this on purpose? Huh? Did you consider the possibility that maybe I deserve to be alone and _that’s_ why I did all those things tonight?

“I did some pretty fucked up shit, Paula. Unforgivable shit. And I don’t regret it, not because I don’t feel bad about it, but because I know I’m destined to end up alone anyhow, so I might as well just get a head start, you know? So, I’ve officially lost everything and everyone that I know, so if you’re here to gloat, spare me, please.”

Rebecca rubs her arms over her jacket, drawing one shaky breath after another. Paula stares at her for a moment and waits for her to cool down before speaking again.

“Can I tell you something?” Rebecca nods imperceptibly, her eyes downcast. “I got a call from Valencia earlier tonight, scared out of her mind. She was in her apartment, and she was crying, telling me how sorry she was for everything she did to hurt you, and before she hung up, she said ‘I just want my friend back. Can you bring her back?’ I tried to call you then; no answer.

“About an hour ago, I got an eerily similar call from Nathaniel. He was a wreck, and you know he doesn’t get emotional ever. He told me you tried to hurt yourself, but he stopped you because he was so scared of losing you.” Paula’s voice turns grave. “Rebecca, we love you. All of us. And we love you as you are, scars and all. I wish you loved yourself like we love you. I wish you saw how beautiful and smart and amazing we all think you are.”

It’s then that Rebecca’s voice breaks into a cry, and she scrambles into Paula’s arms, eager for an embrace. Her best friend hugs her around the middle and lets her jacket take the remainder of Rebecca’s mascara. Neither of them move or speak or try to comprehend the overload of emotions swirling inside. Just to have Rebecca here alive and breathing is more than Paula could ask for.

“They’re never going to forgive me,” Rebecca says between soft sniffles.

“If we’re really your friends, we will forgive you,” Paula reassures with a comforting stroke up and down her arm. Rebecca meekly looks up at Paula.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Rebecca. You got scared and defensive because you were hurting. Sure, the execution maybe was a little twisted, and there’s something to be said about your inability to leave no evidence behind, but nobody got hurt.”

“Except me,” Rebecca whispers mostly to herself. She stammers, “And then I tried to— I— I went to the bad place, and— and he pulled me out in time, but I can’t believe I—“

Paula grasps her hands, firmly bringing her back from floating to self-depreciation. “Hey, hey, let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? We’re not gonna talk about it right now.”

A beat. “How can I make it all go away?”

Paula takes a breath, shifting her eyes towards the fire pit in front of her and grabbing the envelope from the ground.

“There is one way. I’m gonna get a lighter from inside.”

“No need,” Rebecca says, reaching inside her jacket for the book of matches and opens it up. She laughs out a sigh, “Last one. How fitting.”

Paula sets the stack of papers in the pit atop the wood and looks back at Rebecca. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Rebecca nods back at her, and Paula sits back in the chair. “I think you should do the honors then.”

Exhaling soundly, Rebecca strikes the match, watches the flame flicker in the cold night for a moment before tossing it onto the wood. The flames rise quickly to engulf the broken memories and bad decisions, and soon, they’ll be nothing more than scorched regret, untraceable.

Rebecca lays her head down in Paula’s lap and watches the dancing flames with awe, and her mind travels to a hazy emotionless bliss. No one feeling overpowers another; in this moment, she just observes in peace. She stares into the presses of perspiring pads of fingers that seeped into the pages and breathes in time with their steady collapse beneath the embers. Paula’s hand reaches to push her hair from her face and alternates staring between her friend and the flames in front of her.

Burning the physical evidence of her past missteps maybe isn’t the permanent solution to making it all go away, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough to satisfy Rebecca’s request. She’ll figure out something else come morning.

When the fire dies, Rebecca takes a sweeping finger through the ashes and rubs some between her fingers only to let them fall to the ground and scatter. Paula cautiously offers her hand to lead her to the couch inside while unbidden tears leak from Rebecca’s eyes. Paula drapes a blanket over Rebecca as she closes her eyes, and Paula kisses her forehead just before leaving Rebecca to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.

She’s heard it said, “If you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.” A salve of compassion will soothe for this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so very much for reading! This is definitely an angsty/dark territory I have not ventured to yet, so I hope that it turned out well. If you'd like to read more of my works or send me prompts, follow me on Tumblr @itsme-ashley-marie and let me know what you want to read.
> 
> Much love!


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